Setback
by cappuccino girl
Summary: CJ's personal threatens to become public


Setback Setback  
  
By Cappuccino Girl   
Rating: PG-13  
Spoilers: General Season One.  
Disclaimer: As you probably know, all characters belong to Aaron Sorkin, John Wells Productions, and Warner Bros. Quote from 'Happy Girl' by Beth Nielsen Chapman.  
Archive: Please, just ask permission first.  
Notes: Special thanks to Len, for her pacience with me during this creative journey.  
Dedicated to the sisterhood'.  
  
Summary: One of the reporters at the National Enquirer has a story.  
  
  
  
  
It's 6.30 am, and the sun is just starting to rise, casting a soft, peach shadow on the White House as I pull up. It's those simple moments like this which make me cherish my job. Not only does the view bring an aesthetically pleasing start to my day, but I also have a function to look forward to. It's rather unusual that I look forward to these as they tend to consist of little more that mind numbing small talk about politics, but I just happen to have found the most stunning dress, which is sure to turn some heads. It may sound a touch shallow, but which girl doesn't get a slight kick out of that? I own the world at this precise moment in time, and nothing that could happen today will put a dampener on that.  
  
You seem unusually happy with yourself CJ. What's the occasion?   
  
I turn around to see Sam just behind me, clutching a briefcase, his coat and an assorted wadge of curiosities.   
  
No reason. What's the thing you got there? I point to the stack of papers he is trying to cary under his arm.  
  
You want the long or the short description? He motions for me to open the door for him. I oblige, but not without rolling my eyes at him. President's speech for tonight, and a few items which could be of interest to you.  
  
Such as? Why does he always make me prod him? I don't like to prod. It makes me feel like a journalist.  
  
The usual. Give me a minute to wake up. We'll talk it through in your office.  
  
He's got a point. Sam does have a tendency towards being inarticulate, so the last thing I want is to be discussing important matters when I am lucky to get a monosyllabic word out of him.   
  
Morning Carol. Any messages yet?  
  
Hey CJ. Danny called.  
  
This morning? Danny called this morning? Does the man have no life?  
  
Yes, he wanted to know whether you had a date tonight.  
  
Oh God! I dart into my office, and throw my bag onto the desk. How lovely. Danny wakes up this morning at an equally ungodly hour as I did, and rather than worry about caffeine, avoiding the traffic, and getting his work together, he thinks about whether I have a date this evening. I should be touched, but really, I'm not. My goal this evening is to tease, to attract, but not to fool around with a reporter. I'm still a little flustered.  
  
Carol peeks around the door. What should I do if he calls again?  
  
Tell him to go away? I suggest.  
  
My first task, as every morning is to go through the assortment of memos and e-mails which await my response. Carol usually sifts through the trivial ones and deals with them herself, but some require my attention.   
  
Danny called at 6 am. I'm worried. He'd better not screw up my day.   
  
There is one green post-it saying that I should read up on the separation of church and state. The handwriting appears to be Cathy's. It must be from her, but I'd better double check. The rest are relatively unimportant. There's even one from a VIP reporter at Elle. Guess who I won't be replying to.  
  
  
~* *~  
  
I still don't understand Sam. Why are they suing the state of Louisiana? I really hate it when I fail to grasp an issue, but there is no denying it this time, as I have a briefing in less than an hour.  
  
Because they gave money to Oakdale Hope School in order that they could broaden their after schools activities.  
  
So? Isn't that what they are supposed to do with state funds? I stare at him blankly, while he places his fingertips on his forehead in exasperation. I swear I understand most things that go on around here, but this one continues to puzzle me.  
  
Yes, but Oakdale Hope is a Methodist school and it is a violation of constitutional principles for them to give any financial aid other than for general educational materials.  
  
But are the extracurricular activities which they are hosting religious in nature? Ha! I understand. Kind of. Either way it is nice to add something to the conversation and Sam looks impressed at any rate.  
  
According to the court's ruling on Mitchell v. Helms, the state may finance educational supplies for non secular schools which will be put to a general use, but it may not be used for the purpose of religious teaching . Seeing as they hold after school Bible classes, I'd say it's a safe bet that some of it's going there.  
  
He didn't exactly answer my question, but it's pretty close, and I understand, so it's quite adequate.   
  
And that's why they're suing him? Sam nods, and hands me a few pages relating to similar cases. Do they have any proof?  
  
They claim it's self-evident.  
  
I flip through the booklet, scanning for relevant information. Good News Club v. Milford Central School District. It's a similar issue and they were granted to continue the Bible study class.  
  
There's a difference between continuing an independently run Bible study group, and the state funding such a class.  
  
Why couldn't I have thought of that one? Now I seem uneducated again.  
  
So the classes are legal, so long as they are not state funded?   
  
That's the basic idea, yes. He looks up at me, sensing that I'd like a more in depth explanation.  
  
I have to give a briefing on this you know, and I am still at a loss as to what I should say at the press gaggle. I notice that I am spinning my pencil between my middle and index fingers, a sure sign that my stress levels are rising. I manage to refrain from casting a glance at my watch.  
  
Just say that the President is aware of this and that we are looking-  
  
Sam is interrupted by a knock on the door.  
  
Sorry to cut in CJ, but Danny's here. Carol informs me.  
  
Crap. He is? Why?  
  
No idea. I told him you were busy, but he says it's urgent.  
  
My curiosity is beginning to get the better of me. Sam motions that I should go.  
  
This won't take a minute, I promise. He's got one of his I know all' looks and I'm not appreciating it.  
  
CJ. Talk to you a minute?  
  
I'm in the middle of a meeting, Danny. This had better be about something other that whether I have a date or not.  
  
He pulls me out into the hall, and begins to whisper under his breath. One of the reporters at the National Enquirer has a story.  
  
And I am supposed to care?  
  
It's about you. He pauses. And me.  
  
I really hope he's joking. Danny's always been one for jokes. You and me. What about it?  
  
They know that we are going out.  
  
We are not going out. I yell, a little too loud. I've forgotten that we are in the hallway.  
  
You are grabbing me and kissing me. He grins, pleased with himself.  
  
Yes, ok. What exactly have they got on us?  
  
They claim that- Can we do this in your office?  
  
What a great way to arouse more suspicion.   
  
We walk back to my office in silence. I don't feel like talking as I have a horrible feeling what Danny is going to say.   
  
Can Sam hear?   
  
Sam looks up from his doodles. Can I hear what?  
  
He'll find out about it one way or another. About the National Enquirer, Samuel.  
  
What about it?   
  
They have a story on us. I state, pointing to myself, and then Danny.  
  
On you? Oh this should be good.  
  
No, not really. They claim that CJ and I had a thing' so that I wouldn't publish a story. Danny tells in his classic reporter tone.  
  
I suddenly feel myself falling, very quickly, into a vat of burning oil. Shit.  
  
You ok? Sam places a hand on my shoulder.   
  
Why yes, Sam. Of course I'm fine. Some dumb ass paper is going to print that I had sex with a reporter so that he wouldn't publish something damning about the White House. I'm in veritable joyous raptures. Moron.  
  
You had sex with Danny?   
  
Eww! And No. What kind of person does he take me for?  
  
We just kiss a lot. Danny fills in.  
  
I fall into my chair, and give Sam a pleading stare.  
  
Rather than offering me comforting words, maybe even a shoulder to cry on (not that I would), he settles for You should tell Leo. He has to know.  
  
~* *~  
  
Whenever I venture into Leo's office, I try to go through a little mental assertiveness training beforehand. I find it to be very helpful when I have to stake out my territory on an issue, so to speak. He's a very pleasant person, but when he gets that fatherly' tone I just- oh, I cannot stand up to him. He gets that look in his eyes and all I can think is Get the hell out of there.'  
  
So here I stand with Sam on my left, and Danny on my right. He's trying to hold my hand, and I wriggle away. That has got the be the last image I wish to project to Leo, and besides, it's not even true.  
  
Eventually, the door opens.  
  
Come in.  
  
I'm trying to move my legs but the seem paralysed. Move dammit!   
  
They are moving now, but I really wish they wouldn't. He's going to kill me. Sam walks bravely ahead of me. Now that I think about it, he's not actually being brave. Spanky doesn't have anything to worry about.   
  
We file in, and Leo takes his seat again. He gestures that we should do the same, but I prefer to remain standing. I hold my hands at my sides, rather than folded as I tend to. I'm fiddling with my hands. Then my hair. The silence is deadly.  
  
Is someone going to talk, or do you expect me to have telepathic abilities? Leo snorts.  
  
We all say in unison. Both Danny and Sam look towards me.  
  
They expect me to talk? Can I?  
  
I clear my throat first. The National Enquirer has a story. I mumble.  
  
Leo gives me a disapproving stare Can you be a little more informative CJ, because I fail to see the relevance at this _precise_ moment in time.  
  
I really wish that he'd be satisfied with that tit-bit of information. I force myself to continue. The National Enquirer has a story that they will publish in the near future about Danny and I.  
  
About Danny, and you? Oh no, there comes the stern father look again. What exactly about-?' His arm movements finish the sentence for him.  
  
Danny has the courtesy to enlighten him. They claim that CJ had a relationship with me.  
  
Oh.' Leo eyes go from a stare, to a right out death stare at me. Care to explain what _kind_ of a relationship?  
  
Oh dear God. Why does the earth never swallow you up when you want it to?  
  
A- A.. I stammer. I can't bring myself to say the exact words, so I wave my arms about, hoping that he'll understand.  
  
You. And Danny. Had a sexual affair? Leo bellows. What a comfort.  
  
We did not. I state. I'm surprised by my confidence at this precise moment in time. I never had and never will have a sexual relationship with Danny Concannon.  
  
Danny looks horrified, while Sam just stands there like a 6 year old school boy getting a ticking off from a teacher. He'll write speeches for the President, but when I could use some wise and tactful words he's silent.   
  
Why would I care whether you did or didn't, CJ? Alone the concept that you might have one is enough! Leo is starting to go red, as I think am I.   
  
For one, it's bullshit , Leo. I declare.  
  
You're the press secretary for God's sake! Do you actually expect me to believe that you don't know the way these tabloids work?  
  
They are saying that- I am cut off by Leo, who is yelling and projecting mental daggers my way.  
  
I know what they are saying CJ. Do you have any idea what it looks like if you are fucking reporters so that they'll keep quiet?  
  
He might as well have knives rolling off his tongue for they would hurt far less than those words. I can feel them ricocheting between my ears, leaving tiny, piercing wounds.  
  
If you were a man it wouldn't even be so bad. he adds  
  
You what!? I am shouting now. Like I care.  
  
I'd like to be excused. Sam petitions.  
  
Shut up, Sam. Leo scowls. If you are doing this sort of thing, CJ. Well, it's not acceptable.  
  
But I'm not! I deplore. He shrugs his shoulders, keeping his eyes fixed on me. Are you implying that- Leo, if I were a man no one would give a rat's ass whether or why I had a relationship with a reporter.  
  
Precisely, and let me tell you that if that article so much as hints at a sexual affair, then I will be the first one recommending to the President that you resign. I notice that Leo's tone is starting to make Danny wince. He's a reporter. He's not supposed to wince. I'm far beyond wincing. I believe that feeling violently ill would be the term. Now I would like to get on with my work before you decide to drop another choice disaster on my desk!  
  
~* *~  
  
I'm rushing to my office. I will make it. I will make it, but I can feel the first tear trickling down my face.  
  
I can see the door. A comforting door. One which I can close behind me. I hardly notice Donna and Carol sharing a few words. I slam it shut, and fall down on the couch.  
  
Casting a glance down at my hands, I notice a drop of blood on one of my trembling fingers. I must have scratched them with anger and nervosity. I curl up into a shaking ball on the sofa, trying desparately to subdue my emotions.  
  
Suddenly, they come up, the sobs. Long uncontrollable sobs. I can't seem to stop, so I throw my pesky glasses on the floor and let them take me over for a moment. My whole body shakes violently. I feel like I'm going to be sick, but I know I won't. It would be nice. Clear all the bad words and thoughts from inside me, but I couldn't.  
  
CJ, I- I hear Donna's gentle voice Oh my God, CJ. Are you ok? She comes closer to the sofa.  
  
Can you shut the door? I choke.   
  
She briskly closes it, and returns to me, taking a seat on the couch.  
  
What's wrong, CJ? I really wish that she didn't see me cry. No one besides my parents have ever seen me cry . I feel weak and exposed. There is nothing more damaging which she could ever know about me.   
  
The Enquirer has a story . I pause for a second, trying to compose myself. They claim that I had a thing with Danny and- A second wave of tears comes over me. Donna places an arm around my shoulder.  
  
It's ok, CJ. No one is going to hear but me. Dear Donna. Dear, sweet Donna. One day I will repay her for her presence at this moment.   
  
I assemble all of the remaining control in my body and continue. Leo has said that if the press prints the story so that it is a- I pause so that I can say the words without crying again. If sex is involved, then he will recommend my resignation to the President.  
  
Donna doesn't say a word. She just sits there. I appreciate her silence more than anything else.  
  
It's not even true, Donna. My voice has cleared by a fraction, and with it my mind. What do I say if someone asks me at the briefing? Did you have sex with a White House reporter?' What do I say Donna? I cover my tear-stained face with my hands in despair.  
  
She sits up a little, and grasps my hand confidently. Have they got any proof CJ?  
  
I can't imagine so. I hesitate. This damn story fits right in with Leo's little cardboard box analogy of women. Do you know that?  
  
She smiles shakily. I'm glad that Toby and Josh aren't like that. What would we do without them?  
  
So long as Leo calls the shots around here, all the noble people in the world won't help me.  
  
I eye the clock on my wall. It says 10.25. I scramble up from the sofa, startling Donna.  
  
What are you up to? Her eyes jump from one thing in the room to the next.  
  
The briefing. I have to give the briefing in 5 minutes. I flip rapidly through my notes, ensuring all is as I left it. How do my eyes look, Donna?  
  
She moves closer and has a look. Ok. Good you didn't put any mascara on.  
  
They're fine?   
  
She nods assuredly. Yes, they are, but what about you?  
  
What am I? A crying wreck who wished most that she had never set a foot out of bed this morning. Who hopes that everyone would respect and trust her. Who should portray a positive image so that no one asks damning, personal questions. Who breaks quietly on the inside.  
  
I'm fine.   
  
~* *~  
  
It's ten minutes into the dreaded briefing and so far I have kept my composure. I think it has to be the song that is running through my head.   
  
What is the White House's reaction to the Louisiana school fund issue?  
  
_Watch me go, I'm the happy girl. Everybody knows that the sweetest thing that you've ever seen in the whole wide world is a happy girl.'  
_  
If only I was.  
  
The President knows of the school's financing. Like I said, if the matter cannot be resolved otherwise, the courts are likely to become involved.   
  
Might this cause the President to reconsider the current situation with regards to religious education in schools?  
  
I seriously doubt it, Jeff.   
  
I am relatively pleased with myself. I remembered every word Sam told me, and conveyed the ideas to the reporters in the most concise way possible.  
  
Yes, Mark. I pick a reporter out of the masses.  
  
I've heard that there is something going around about your having an affair with a member of the press corps. Care to comment?  
  
There it is. I just heard it, or at least I think I did. I'm sorry?  
  
There is a story going around our -  
  
Yes I heard you the first time, and _no_ I do not care to comment. This briefing is now over. I snatch my papers and stride out the door, with Danny close at my heels.   
  
What kind of a half assed moron are you? I yell, while still remaining focussed on where I am heading. They asked me about the damn thing and you follow me right out the room. What is your IQ, like 5?  
  
I thought you might need someone to talk to. He states.  
  
Let me tell you that of all the people on God's green earth, there are two people I absolutely _do not_ want to converse with, and one of those would be you. So if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.   
  
Fine CJ, but if you change your mind, you know where to find me. Danny comments, and from the corner of my eye, I follow him leaving my vicinity.   
  
What was that about? Sam and Toby have also caught up with me. You leaving the briefing like that?   
  
Can you please speak in complete sentences, Sam? Toby adds, slightly irritated already.  
  
Like what? I ask.  
  
In that hurried, rushed manner that you did. Sam quips, gesturing with his arms for emphasis.  
  
No comment, CJ? Toby questions.   
  
I pause, so that for the first time since leaving the press room I am looking someone in the eye.  
  
Yes, Toby, and do you want to know why no comment'? I snap. Because, quite frankly, it is such a bullshit story that I don't even want to supply them with a sound bite.  
  
CJ, look upon it as a setback. Deny it and move on. Sam adds, matter-of- factly.  
  
Yes, so that they can edit it on Dateline. Then it won't sound like I didn't have- Why the hell am I talking with you about this in the first place? I march towards my office leaving them standing in the hallway.   
  
~* *~  
  
Just as I was beginning to feel that my day had reached previously unattainable levels of horror, Carol came by to inform me, that the President wished to see me. I am very fond of President Bartlet. If it weren't for him, I would never have had such a prestigious position in the White House. He has always be kind to me, just as I have always be gracious, but I fear that I have made too big a mistake this time. He is sure to be angry with me, and there is nothing which I hate more than disappointing people.  
  
I've arranged with Mrs Laningham to see him at 3.50. I check my watch before I walk towards the Oval Office. It says 3.50. You should never keep the President waiting, for his schedule is even more hectic than ours, but 2 minutes will make it seem like I was doing something other than rewording what I will say to him for the past hour.  
  
The President's waiting, CJ. I confidently continue towards the door. Just as I am about to open it, Mrs Laningham asks ever so quietly How are you doing, dear?  
  
As can be expected. I attempt a smile as I turn the doorknob.   
  
Mr President? My mind goes blank.  
  
President Bartlet looks up at me from his desk. His voice rings remarkably cheerfully. I gather that you are having slight problems with a certain paper.  
  
His look is so kind that I can meet his eyes without feeling uneasy. Yes sir, the National Enquirer. I assume you saw the briefing.  
  
No, I didn't, actually. Toby told me.  
  
Oh, I see. I mumble.  
  
Leo told me that it is in the administration's best interest that you resign if things heat up anymore. How do you feel about it?  
  
What is the meaning of life? You are asking me, sir, how I feel about losing my job?  
  
No, CJ. Which way do you expect the press to go?  
  
To be honest, I haven't even considered any long term implications. I am hoping that it will go away. Sounds unrealistic, now that I hear myself say it.  
  
You've been right in the past, haven't you?  
  
It's funny how whenever a disaster shows up, that you always forget the good moments. I have. I notice that I'm almost smiling.  
  
Then I'll say that you'll be right again. Go on. Get on with your day, and I'll see you at 7.  
  
The Dinner?  
  
I nod, and walk towards the door.  
  
Good then. Oh, CJ? The President questions.  
  
I turn around again.   
  
You did well not to comment. He says with that fabulous tone of nobility and assurance that won him the election.  
  
Thank you, sir. I gingerly close the door behind me, and fight to blink away the tears again. This has got to stop. I am smiling.  
  
~* *~  
  
It's a quarter past seven, at least it was the last time I checked my watch. I'm sitting here at my desk, wearing my fabulous dress. It's not having the effect on me that it should, so I'm here, in my office, avoiding the show. Today's events have left me so far behind on everything that my desk is white from unread memos. I scan over the first ten, highlighting relevant words as I go.  
  
CJ?'   
  
I look up to see Danny, straddling the doorway.  
  
You shouldn't be here.' I assert.  
  
If I'm not mistaken, there is an important social evening, and your absence will arouse suspicion.'  
  
I'm busy, Danny. I have work to do.' I wave the stack of memos around.  
  
He looks unimpressed The Enquirer isn't going to print the story.' He explains casually.  
  
They aren't?' I can feel my nausea being lifted like a sheet. You can almost see it float out the door. Are you sure?' I'm doing my best not to feel relieved quite yet.  
  
I spoke with one of the editors. Apparently there is better news on a Republican congressman.' He smirks. Come on, CJ. Go to the party.'  
  
He's right, I have to go, so now is as good a moment as any. I diligently rise from my chair, place my glasses down, and make my way towards the door. Danny continues to stand there, blocking my way. I give him a disproving stare. Can you move?'  
  
You look amazing.' He beams.  
  
Really?' Maybe he'll say it again, so that I get a second stroke to my feminine ego.  
  
Yes, absolutely. I'll walk you to there.' He steps aside, and takes my hand. I twist mine out of his grasp.   
  
After today, you have got to be kidding.'  
  
He smiles back at me, and we walk down the hall, side by side.  
  
A notice a pair of eyes following me. They are all looking, everyone who passes me. Can't you see them? They are staring at me, and him. I distance myself from Danny. My walk quickens. Her! She's even pausing to take stock of what the reporter and the girl who fucks him look like together as a-  
  
Oh God Danny!' I scream. I- I can't do this.' I dart towards the nearest quiet corner. He follows me. Go away!'  
  
He looks at me aghast. I haven't done anything.'  
  
No. No, Danny, you haven't. I just- I can't be around you. Not now.' I wipe a troublesome tear from my eye, doing my best not to smudge any makeup.  
  
I wish that I had the strength to tell him that I have a deep scar, and that it is bleeding all over my pretty gown, and that is why I cry on the inside. That I must hear those hurtful words ringing in my ears whenever I go to a staff meeting. That I feel cheap and exposed to all who see me.  
  
Spinning around, I march towards the hall. I don't see Danny, but I can picture him standing there, looking puzzled. Maybe he's smiling. I hope he understands.  
  
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